


Smoke and Salt

by Cassunjey



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Related, Friendship, Gen, Loss, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassunjey/pseuds/Cassunjey
Summary: Smaug has taken Erebor and the survivors are fleeing into the wild.Two heartbroken dwarves leave a present for their future selves buried in their stone of their homeland.
Relationships: Dis (Tolkien) & Original Male Character
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	Smoke and Salt

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul  
> ~~~~~
> 
> Amad - Mother  
> Sigin'amad - Grandmother

“I don't understand.”

That makes two of us, Molir thought, as he stared down the rocky hillside to the hastily built, poorly equipped camp below. Thorin's voice carried to them, the young prince shouting orders, organising what remained of a shocked and grieving people.

Molir's shoulder blades itched. It didn't feel like they were far enough away.

He knew if he turned he would still be able to see Erebor's jagged peak, rising like a blade over the ridge behind him. He could taste the ash, no matter how many times he spat and rinsed his mouth. The smell was ground into his beard and his braids. Death and blood.

He wasn't sure he'd ever be far enough away.

Realising he was frowning Molir fixed a smile of his face as he turned back to his princess, her little face smoke-stained and tracked with tears.

They both needed a distraction.

“We're going to leave ourselves a present, Dis. Then, when we come back home again we'll dig it up and it will remind us.”

I'm not explaining this very well, he thought as he looked at her puzzled face. He sat down and she sat in front of him, arranging her dirty skirts carefully and fiddling with the sleeves of the too big shirt he had pulled over her in an attempt to protect her from the cold.

Molir cursed himself again for not thinking to lift a cloak for her. Or a stack of blankets. He eyed the darkening sky. If the weather turned before they found shelter it would be as much a danger to their weak and injured kin as an angry, far too close for comfort in his opinion, dragon.

Reaching forward he tugged the hood of the shirt up over her tangled hair again, tucking the dark curls in. “Keep your hood up or you'll get chilled. I know today has been scary and terrible. You've seen things no dwarfling should ever see. But it will get better, I promise.”

She didn't look like she believed him but she was too polite to interrupt.

He smiled again, in what he hoped was a reassuring and confident way. "So I thought we should write a letter to our grown up selves, about the good things. In case we forget. Because sometimes when bad things happen it's hard to remember the good times.”

By some miracle Dis seemed to understand what he was trying to say, or at least decided to humour him.

Pragmatic as always she pointed out the flaw in his plans.

"We have no writing things.”

With a flourish Molir pulled a page from his pocket and more carefully retrieved the quill a grim faced Balin had kindly lent him.

“So we will write a letter and leave it here?” She quirked an eyebrow at him as she took the page and examined it, tutting. “Molir, this already has words on one side. And there's dirty fingerprints on it.”

He covered a small smile with his hand, glad she was feeling a little better. 

Molir wasn't the neatest scribe at the best of times, his big hands more used to the axe than the quill, and Dis’s delicate ones were still shaking very badly. But somehow between them they managed.

When the blank side was full they turned it over and continued, cramming runes around the margins of the page.

Descriptions of her childhood games in the great, glittering chambers of Erebor. The winding stair that led out onto the mountainside where they had found the rabbit family. The delicious cake the cooks had made for Dis's tenth birthday. The trips to the markets of Dale for toys and pastries.

And perhaps there were a few salty tears landed on the page and some of the runes smudged a little but it didn't matter. Not really.

Molir tucked the quill away safely and chafed her cold fingers in his, blowing on them to warm them a little.

“What do we do now?”

It took him longer than it should to realise she was asking about their letter.

"Well. Now we dig a hole and we bury it.”

Together they scratched out an indent in the mountainside. Dis placed the note inside and they looked at it for a moment.

“It doesn't look right.” she said quietly.

Molir agreed, he lifted out his tobacco pouch and shook the contents into the wind. Barely a pipes worth, not worth keeping really. Dis tucked the letter inside.

Lost in thought he ran his fingers along the braid at his temple, and somehow the elaborately carved hair bead came loose. Molir stared at it as it lay in the centre of his palm.

Blinking hard and nodding he placed it gently on the pouch. It seemed right. She had never wanted to leave the mountain, and now she never would. He licked his lips and tasted smoke and salt.

“No, Dis.” He reached out a hand as she added a bead of her own, the once neat braid it belonged to already unravelling. He knew immediately which one it was. A precious heirloom, and worth a king’s ransom.

She stopped him with a glare, a glimpse of the fierce dwarf she would become, and drew the pouch tightly closed.

“We will see them again. When we return. “

* * *

“Do you remember where it was?”

Molir ignored her as he cast around, the hillside was more overgrown than he recalled but he was fairly certain this was the place.

He lined up the mountain's peak over his right shoulder, moved forward until he could see where their desolate camp had been and kept the rocks that looked like a sleeping dragon by his left elbow.

“Here.”

Dis joined him as he crouched and together they dug about in the stones.

Molir was just beginning to doubt himself a little when his fingers brushed leather. Dis grinned at him as he pulled the pouch free. He handed it to her.

Reverently she opened the laces and gently shook the beads out onto her dusty palm.

He lifted the little bead and stroked his thumb over the engraving. It seemed smaller and lighter than he remembered.

“I can braid it in for you later if you like,” Dis whispered quietly as footsteps approached.

Molir nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

Dis raised the pouch to her nose. “It still smells of smoke, even after all these years.”

“You found it then?”

Molir accepted Fili's hand, his knees weren't quite what they used to be, and clapped the boy on the back. “Of course. Right where we left it.”

“They do say the third time's the charm.”

“You're not too big for a clip round the ear, you know.”

Fili turned away with a grin to pull his amad to her feet.

“This belonged to your sigin'amad.” Dis’s smile lit up her face as she uncurled her fingers around her bead. “It would have been sold ten times over had Molir not thought to leave ourselves a present.”

“Then it is precious indeed.” Fili glanced around the hillside and nodded once to Molir. “It’s getting dark, we should head back. The mountain paths are not as safe as I would like.”

Molir watched as they began to pick a path back down the steep slope. Closing his eyes for a moment he pressed the hair bead tight to his lips before tucking it away. A final pat to make sure it was safe before he shouldered his axe and followed them.


End file.
